


tattoos

by loverloverlover



Category: Addicted Series - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie, Calloway Sisters - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie, Like Us Series - Krista Ritchie & Becca Ritchie
Genre: F/M, Friendship, Progression fic, Tattoos, lunnelly
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-20
Updated: 2020-02-23
Packaged: 2021-02-18 02:36:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21503824
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/loverloverlover/pseuds/loverloverlover
Summary: The evolution of Luna Hale’s tattoos—also known as the evolution of Luna and Donnelly’s relationship.Told in four parts: (1) the two tattoos on the tour bus during FanCon, (2) Luna’s hipbone tattoo a few months later, (3) that tattooing session that gets derailed by science, and (4) the leg piece where theyswearthat it was a "one time thing."
Relationships: Luna Hale/Paul Donnelly
Comments: 2
Kudos: 29
Collections: the lunnelly diaries





	1. part one

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luna's tattoos on the bus during fancon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> some- or rather _most_ of the dialogue is taken directly from llu

It was nearing three in the morning on the FanCon tour bus, and the only sounds were the soft music tinkling out of the driver’s compartment—Future Generations, “Spirit of my Youth”—and someone’s low snoring from the bunks. Luna Hale had been slumped on the booth next to Paul Donnelly—all six foot three of his blue-eyed, brown-haired, and tattooed self—for the better part of two hours, unable to sleep. Luna had ventured out to meet her family and their bodyguards on the road when staying in Philadelphia had seemed to her, at the moment, the worst possible thing she could do. And the two rows of bunks to her left seemed just as confining as her gated neighborhood back in Philly, so she’d found solace in the quiet company of Donnelly.

This was the first time that she’d ever been alone with the older bodyguard, but she was surprised by how quickly she’d felt at ease with him. She knew that her Aunt Daisy would have some elaborate but plausible theory about the whole thing, but Luna thought Anne of Green Gables described it best: “kindred spirits.”

Donnelly had already been doodling in his spiral bound sketchbook when she’d first sat down, and after a quick initial greeting, she’d sat sideways on the cushions and watched him draw. She was worried for all of two minutes that he was going to ask her to back away—to stop hovering over his shoulder—but then he’d started talking as he sketched, and even tilted the book a little more towards her so she could get a better view.

Twenty minutes ago—after nearly two hours of aimless chatter and witty remarks—she’d asked him if he would be willing to tattoo her. And, twenty minutes ago, he’d shrugged his shoulders and said, “Why not?”

Now he was doodling for _her,_ and she was sitting a little bit closer, switching between looking at the book in her hands and peeking over his shoulder—watching his pencil glide over the paper as the UFO began to take shape. She was pulled from her observation of his fingers—his _drawing_ —when Farrow entered the lounge and collapsed on the other side of the booth.

Luna closed the book she’d been aimlessly flipping through—an orange-covered copy of Isaac Asimov’s novel, _Foundations_ , that she’d read numerous times—and looked up at her brother’s boyfriend.

“You know something funny?” she asked.

“What?” Farrow replied, propping his foot up on the cushion.

Luna smiled at him. “I kept thinking my brother would end up with someone boring, annoying, or high-maintenance. Someone I’d hate. Kinney, Xander, and I talked about it all the time, but Moffy actually fell for someone cool.”

And Farrow _was_ cool. Luna had always thought that. She was the one in her family that had befriended him first—the one that had sought him out first and asked him all sorts of, she was sure, annoying questions. Every time he’d been around over the years, whether as her doctor’s ‘apprentice’ or her mother’s bodyguard, she had observed his piercings and his tattoos and his no-nonsense behavior and thought, _This guy is awesome._ Now that she knew him as _more_ than just her doctor’s son or her mom’s bodyguard, she could honestly say he was cooler than she’d originally thought.

“He’s not cool,” Donnelly rebutted with a smirk. He never looked up from his page, even as Luna looked to him for an explanation. “You know he was in _honor society_ at Yale.”

Before Luna could speak—before she could say that was actually pretty badass considering she couldn’t even pass twelfth grade history—Farrow responded. “That ‘society’ was actually a program.”

“Same thing,” Donnelly bantered.

“No,” Farrow replied matter-of-factly. “One you show up and participate in events. The other, you just take classes with an H beside the number.

“And stop shitting on people who try in school,” Farrow scolded, snatching Donnelly’s sketchbook out of his hands. Before Farrow could even glance down at it, Donnelly yanked the notebook back.

“I tried,” Donnelly defended. “Still didn’t do well.”

“Ditto,” Luna added. She grabbed one of Donnelly’s many Sharpies off the table and began to absently draw on her kneecap—avoiding both of their eyes.

“Didn’t graduate either,” Donnelly added. She didn’t know if he was trying to make her feel better, but it was working.

Luna kept her head bowed and focused on the Sharpie in her hand as all her anxieties about high school—about potentially not _graduating_ high school—came thundering back. Luna was proud of herself for making it this far in her studies, though—even her therapist had told her that a lot people would’ve already dropped out. That the sheer amount of ridicule that she faced from her classmates was enough to make a “lesser woman” give everything all up. When Dr. Schnider had said that, though, Luna wanted to rebut that she barely went to class and all the homework made no sense. So, really, it _was_ like she’d dropped out with the amount of actual schooling she participated in. Luna knew that if she wasn’t so obsessed with making her parents proud—obsessed with not giving the paparazzi something to yell at her parents about on the street (“See! Loren and Lily _can’t_ raise children properly! One of them didn’t even finish high school!”)—that she would’ve already left.

Luna smudged the ink on her kneecap and asked Donnelly, “From high school?”

“Yeah.”

Luna glanced up at him, and he met her eyes for a second. She saw bone-deep understanding reflecting back at her from his eyes—coupled with a flash of…insecurity? She chickened out and looked to Farrow instead.

“I think I’d be okay without high school,” she said, thinking of her trust fund and her family and knowing she had the privilege of being both wealthy and overwhelmingly loved. Missing a high school diploma wouldn’t hurt her.

“Give me,” Farrow requested, gesturing for the Sharpie that she had just capped. She watched as he bit the cap back off and then reached for her arm, gently pulling it across the table. She couldn’t read what he was scribbling on her arm, but it was a little ticklish and she had to do her best not to squirm under the marker’s touch.

“Being a high school drop-out with no GED is sad,” he said.

“You tell her, Farrow.” Donnelly grinned.

“I could secretly be a sad alien,” she replied with a slightly forced grin. “My weapon is my tear ducts.”

She didn’t know if Donnelly could sense the tense nature of her words—Farrow certainly couldn’t as he began smiling—or if he’d felt her stiffen next to him, but he indulged her even as he returned to his sketch.

“Sad Alien would be a cool band name,” he said.

“Uh-huh, think of all the Sad Alien merch,” she said. Luna was actually grinning now. “Plushies, tooth brushes, condoms, dildos—slogan: _I want a sad alien in me.”_

“Girl, take my money,” Donnelly said, his Philly accent thick.

In a sudden realization, Luna thought, _I like his voice._ A split-second later, she decided to move away from the potential mess _that_ train of thought could create. To occupy the silence, and make sure she didn’t do anything stupidly rash, Luna blurted out the first _appropriate_ thing that popped into her head that could carry the conversation along: “Were you two friends with J.P.?”

She was admiring the lyrics that Farrow had written on her arm— _Oh, my life, is changing every day, in every possible way_ —so she had missed their responses to her question. She was able to read their energy well enough, though, to gather that they hadn’t been _at all_ fond of him.

“He never believed half of what I ever told him. He would always chuckle with an _okay, huh-huh_ like I was stupid.” She bit her thumbnail, then wanted to kick herself for letting the nervous middle-school habit make its reappearance. “But I feel guilty that he got fired,” she admitted.

She knew that she shouldn’t feel that way, and her Uncle Connor would tell her “Guilt is a useless emotion.” Luna was highly aware that she and J.P. definitely didn’t mesh well—that she needed to be able to rely on her bodyguard for pretty much everything. She knew Quinn Olivera was the more obvious choice for her because not only were they around the same age, but she knew he wasn’t about to be running off to her parents every time she did something that ‘wasn’t normal.’

“Shit happens,” Farrow said. “Your brother, your parents, and the whole security team would rather you had someone you trusted.”

It was like he could read her mind. Donnelly nodded in agreement, and Luna’s shoulders loosened. She’d move on, she decided. Put all of this—J.P. and the trouble she’d caused by ditching him—behind her. 

It was quiet for a bit, and Luna went back to watching Donnelly’s hand move across the page. She was excited for this tattoo to begin with, but looking at the way his sketch was turning out, Luna was even more psyched. She saw Farrow’s brows furrow when he caught proper sight of what Donnelly was drawing, and Luna decided to fill him in.

“He’s giving me a tattoo on the bus,” she said.

“You didn’t want to wake your brother up?” he asked.

Honestly, Luna hadn’t even considered it. This was something she’d wanted to do on her own. Even though she knew—without a shred of doubt—that Moffy wouldn’t try to stop her or talk her out of it, she wanted this to be _her_ experience. _Her_ time to prove to herself that she was actually as grown up as she felt by doing it all on her own. So, she shrugged, and she made up some excuse about how tired Moffy had looked earlier—which was actually pretty truthful, just not the reason she didn’t ask him to be here. Farrow agreed with her, though, and she promised to show her older brother first thing in the morning.

“What are you charging her?” Farrow asked.

Luna looked at Donnelly, and thought again of how he’d turned down her offer of cash and just said, ‘Write me a story or something.’ She had already resolved to slip some money into the bottom of his duffle bag when he went to sleep—a good tattooist deserved good money, not a fic about an alien that she could imagine up in her sleep.

“She’s writing me a fic,” Donnelly informed Farrow.

Then, instead of asking her to slide out of the booth for a second, he just climbed over her. There was a split second where one of his knees was on either side of her thighs—caging her in and blanketing her with warmth—and she’d thought, _‘oh’,_ before he was gone in search of his tattoo kit. Slightly flustered, her neck a little bit red, and her heart beating a little bit too fast, Luna cleared her throat and tried to look as though that had no effect on her at all.

“She said she could do an original. A shifter story,” Donnelly added, returning to the booth and sifting through his ink and needles.

“With hints of extraterrestrial-ness,” she said without missing a beat.

Donnelly tore open a needle package with his teeth, and she tried not to let her stare linger on his mouth—she was sure she failed, _spectacularly._

“Where do you want it?” he asked, looking down at her with a glint in his eye. Oh yeah, she’d failed. Luna recognized that glint—that taunting little twinkle—and to show that _no_ , she actually _wasn’t_ affected by him, Luna pulled off her black Thrasher hoodie in one fluid motion as if it were nothing.

He looked only at her face, his eyes never moving lower even as she gestured to her ribs and said, “I’m thinking right here.” His jaw was clenched, but she saw the amusement in his eyes that betrayed him. He was having fun. He knew what they were doing, but now it was a game of wills and she was _not_ going to lose—Aunt Rose wouldn’t have it, and even subconsciously disappointing her aunt sucked.

Luna barely even heard Farrow say, “I’m no longer here. If you need me, I’m ignoring you both,” but the sound of the other man’s voice snapped Donnelly out of whatever trance he’d fallen into. He returned his focus to the tattoo gun he was setting up. She shifted to the table and leaned back on her hands—not caring that the position put her green bra-covered boobs on display as she watched him work.

“You want any color?” he asked.

“I’m thinking just black.”

He nodded.

It took about another seven minutes for him to get everything ready—which included shaving her ribs, which was _weird_ , wiping her skin with an alcohol swab, which was _cold_ , and applying the outline of the design, which made everything extremely _real_.

“Alright Sad Alien, why don’t you lay down on the table, and I’ll sit in the booth, and we can get this show on the road?”

Luna did as he bid and laid on her back on the cold wood of the table. She shivered slightly as she settled, and decided to use her discarded sweatshirt as a pillow. Donnelly took a couple seconds to situate her the way he wanted—moving her arm over her chest and sliding a thin pillow under her left hip so she was at a better angle. She tried not to think too much about his hands on her skin, but even covered in black latex gloves, they were unbelievably warm—so much warmer than the cold table—and she couldn’t quite help it that her mind was wandering. She couldn’t help but wonder if the rest of him was just as warm as his hands…

Then, his hands settled on her waist and stayed there. Luna looked down to find him already watching her.

“Ready?”

She nodded.

“Let me know if you want a break, or if you need to shift positions,” he added.

She grinned at him. “Do your worst, Donnelly.”

He shook his head with a smile of his own and set the needle to her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> thanks for reading! there are three parts left to go and i hope y'all wanna read them. this couple deserves more content and i've decided i'm going to give it to 'em lol (even if i can't keep my tenses right when i'm writing jskds)
> 
> also, watch anne with an e on netflix! shirbert nation rise jskdjs


	2. part two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> luna gets her hipbone tattoo—nay, her _below_ the hipbone tattoo.

Walking alone at night, well after dark, wasn’t something that Luna did often. The fact that she was still in her own neighborhood—and there was practically zero chance of her being accosted by anyone—did nothing to stop her from being slightly unnerved by the complete silence of the street. It wasn’t quite eleven yet, and the temperature was mild as Luna made the fifteen-minute walk to one of Security’s mansions two streets over from her childhood home. Donnelly had asked her to meet him at Epsilon’s house at a quarter ‘till midnight for her latest tattoo endeavor. She had offered to do it at her house, or even at Donnelly’s apartment in Hell’s Kitchen, but her father is at home—still ever the night-owl and still a fierce hater of tattoos—and she would’ve had to bring Quinn with her if she went to Donnelly’s. The easiest option was waiting for a Wednesday Night Cobalt dinner that Beckett was able to attend and getting it done then because, really, the worse of those two scenarios was having her dad watch as she got a tattoo—especially since that tattoo was being done by Donnelly.

After Luna had returned from FanCon, her dad had seen the ink on her arm and been eerily calm as he asked her when she’d gotten it and who’d done it to her. She had answered him just as calmly—if not a little more slowly so she could try and figure him out—and she’d even lifted her shirt to show him the minimalist space shuttle on her ribcage. He had nodded, said “very nice”—which was a _lie_ if Luna had ever heard one—and that was that. Luna had been expecting a way worse reaction given his known hatred of tattoos, but she’d shrugged it off as a whim and went about her day. Apparently, he was just saving his true reaction for his face-to-face with Donnelly—or, rather, his heated phone call with Donnelly.

Luna hadn’t been privy to the actual conversation, as it had happened while her dad was at his office, but Donnelly had relayed most of it to her later when they were setting up the time to do this tattoo. The best way Donnelly could explain her dad’s reaction was “ape-shit.” Which was perfect, really. Just the reaction Luna had wanted.

But Luna was in love with her tattoos, and she didn’t regret getting them for even a second, so what was one more?

Climbing the front stoop of one of two identical mansions, she rang the doorbell to Security’s house. Luna wasn’t expecting Quinn to be the one to open the door, and he looked equally as surprised to see her. He was wearing a worn leather jacket and his hair was styled, looking to be on his way out. He stopped himself in his tracks when he realized it was her.

“Luna?” he exclaimed. “What’s wrong? You need something?”

“Nope, all good Quinn.” She smiled. “I’m here for–”

“Luna!” she heard Donnelly call from inside the house. “Get your sparkly butt in here!”

“I’m here for him,” she confirmed, gesturing towards his voice. “He’s giving me another tat.”

“Oh, right,” Quinn said. “I was wondering why he was hanging around. You want me to stay?”

“Nah, I’m good,” Luna assured him. “And you look like you’ve got plans. Enjoy your night off, Quinn.”

“Alright, I’ll see you tomorrow, then,” he said with a small wave. He stepped out past her as she moved into the house, closing the door behind her. She’d only been in Security’s house once before—and that had been Alpha’s house, not Epsilon’s—so she looked around. It definitely looked like a bachelor pad—some clothes strewn around, the distinct smell of boy, and a case of beer on top of the fridge.

She found Donnelly in the spacious dining room that looked like it was rarely used as a dining room—if the multitude of cardboard boxes were anything to go by—but the table was cleared, and Donnelly had his sketch book and his pencils strewn about in front of him. His reading glasses were perched low on his nose and he looked way too cute for his own good with those thin wire frames.

“Hi. Howdy. Hey,” she greeted. “One of those for me?”

Instead of responding with words, Donnelly slid one of his sketches towards her and observed her while she studied it. It was a simple drawing—like the other tattoo he’d given her—but it was still beautiful. And though she hadn’t specified whether or not she wanted color, he had added some purple and green streaks to the tail of the shooting star.

“Oh, this is fantastic,” she breathed. “Let’s do it.”

“Sweet.” He gathered up all his things, throwing most of it in a small black bag. “There’s a den on the second floor that we can do this in—figured it’s a little more secluded, and that way, if someone comes home, they’re less likely to bother us. It’s not two AM on a tour bus anymore.” He laughed.

“Sounds good.”

She followed him through the house and up the carpeted stairs—him grabbing his kit out of the entry hall on the way—and she had the absurd feeling that this was about to be a _lot_ more intimate than their other session. Her mind had found its home in the gutter as her eyes refused to tear themselves away from his ass as he walked up the stairs in front of her. She knew she was being a whole entire fool, but _damn_ he was attractive. _Focus, focus, focus._

“So, you said you wanted it on your hip-bone?” he asked, pushing open a random doorway and letting her enter the room first. She made brief eye contact with him and he was as steady as ever—that was a comfort, she found, even if she wasn’t actually uncomfortable. There were a few couches in the room, but, really, it was the bare minimum of furnishings. This room looked just about as lived in as the dining room had been, and it reminded Luna of how impermanent some of these bodyguards’ living quarters were—she didn’t know how they did it.

“I want it _below_ my hip-bone,” Luna corrected. “That way my dad doesn’t even have to know it exists—well, unless I wear that one bikini when summer rolls around.”

He shook his head at her, but she saw a small grin grace his lips as he shifted the coffee table and made room for a small stool. He set his things on the coffee table, and she flopped backwards onto the couch while he set everything up. He looked like he was moving on autopilot as he plugged things in and wrapped some stuff up in plastic. He looked up at her as he wound a rubber band around the base of the gun, and he raised an eyebrow when he caught sight of her sprawled position on the couch.

“If you want it on your hip-bone, your pants have to come off, you know?”

“Why, Mr. Donnelly, is that a proposition?” she asked as she levered herself off the couch and unbuttoned her skinny jeans.

“Not yet, babe.” He smirked at her as he pulled his wallet, a pack of cigarettes, and a silver zippo lighter out of his pocket. “You’ll know when I proposition you.”

“When?” she teased. This was usual for them—they were always very direct and always meant what they said when they said it. There was no pretense, and Luna thought that it was such a relief to have a relationship like this in her life. It’s why she zeroed in on his use of ‘when’ and not ‘if’.

He didn’t answer her, though, just stared at her as she tossed her jeans onto a different couch and put her hands on her hips. She was only in her thin t-shirt and dark blue panties—which had a small planet and the words ‘get outer my space’ stitched on the front—but just like on the tour bus two months earlier, his eyes never strayed from her face. They just stared into each other’s eyes and they were suddenly back to their game of wills. She’d noticed that Donnelly is an extremely expressive person—both with his face and with his words. What she’s beginning to understand, though, is that he’s also extremely good at hiding his emotions. When his face is completely blank, like it is right now, _that’s_ when Luna wants to know what he’s thinking the most. She’d definitely never want to play poker against him, that’s for sure.

“Just because you’re eighteen doesn’t mean that you’re not still in high school,” he finally said, his eyes still piercing hers.

“Technically speaking, I’m taking classes at home now,” she corrected. “No more real school for me.”

He rolled his eyes and she accompanied her remark with a playful shimmy of her shoulders—which she was sure looked more ridiculous than usual because she wasn’t wearing any pants—but he just crossed the room to her and dropped to a knee in front of her. She about lost her mind completely as she stared down at him, but he was holding an alcohol swab in one hand and a disposable razor in the other. She _knew_ that he was aware of what his sudden action would do to her—he’d have to be completely idiotic if he didn’t—but she _had_ to focus on the tattoo. Not him.

“Left or right hip?” she asked roughly.

“Right.”

Donnelly was a no-nonsense kind of guy, and this was something that he was good at—was confident in—so he took one second to catch her eye and make sure she knew what he was doing before he began going through the motions. He was almost detached—which she relied on to keep her breathing from going all out of whack—in the way he shifted the band of her underwear higher on her waist and ran the swab over her skin. Looking down at him now, when his hands were on her waist and his head was the perfect height for her to run her fingers through his hair, was a _bad_ idea.

Soon, the outline of the tat was pressed into her skin and he was stepping back. She cleared her throat as she hopped past him and sat cross-legged on the couch.

“How do you want me?” She smirked.

“Girl, you are playing with fire,” he warned, shaking his head at her.

“I’ve been known to do that,” she said as she nodded sagely.

“Just lay down,” he said with a laugh.

She resumed her old position of sprawling out on the couch, and she put her hands behind her head—propping herself up a bit so she could watch him. One of his gloved hands settled warmly on her thigh—sparking those same tingling feelings that had burst into being on the tour bus last time they did this—as he grabbed his tattoo gun and looked to her.

“Ready?” he asked.

At her nod, he set the needle to her skin.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is shorter than the other chapter, and i’m not quite as happy with it, but i wanted to get something out there for y’all. hope you enjoyed it anyway :))
> 
> also, if i were to get a hipbone tattoo, i’d probs wear stretchy pants so i didn’t have to take them all the way off, but if i were to get a tattoo from paul donnelly, i would also wear extremely tight skinny jeans. i don’t judge you, luna.


	3. part three

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> science? or an excuse to finally get what they want? one may never know.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> enjoy, my fellow lunnelly stans [also, the dialogue with jane is taken directly from tlu]

It was the wee hours of the morning—a little after one AM—and Luna was once again in the company of one Paul Donnelly. She knew that their late-night meetings were simply a reflection of Donnelly’s job and his limited availability, but Luna had come to think of these hours as _their_ hours. It was something about the sun being gone from the sky, and the stars and planets that Luna loved so much glowing in full force—even if there was a solid amount of light pollution this close to the city. She wasn’t sure if she was ready to admit that the comfort she’d always felt at night was now slowly morphing into a comfort she felt with Donnelly.

She was lying on her back on her bed and watching him while he was working on the sketch of her newest tattoo. He was lounging on one of her alien-shaped beanbags with his sketch pad braced on one of his bent knees. His colorful tattoo sleeve was on full display, winding up his arm and disappearing under his black Van Halen V-neck. His black jeans were ripped at the knee and there were more tattoos peeking out there—she could see the pretty block script of ‘Cobalt’s Never Die’—and his black boots were discarded at her door.

Over the course of the last few months, the two of them had grown so much closer and she’d come to trust Donnelly as more than just her family’s bodyguard. She trusted him, now, as a friend. He’s one of the first people that she’d been able to consider a friend that wasn’t also a family member and it was a novel experience—one she enjoyed but was not exactly sure how to repeat with other people. She’d never been good at making friends. It _had_ been a slow move to friendship, though. Ever since their first meeting, their interactions had been easy, but there’d always been… a tension that had stopped her from outwardly calling him a friend.

One particular interaction of theirs that she played on repeat every once in a while, was when he’d been tattooing Farrow in the townhouse living room—when he’d not so subtly looked her up and down as he said, “If you’re just lookin’ to be eaten out, I’ll eat you out–”

That memory had become even more prevalent ever since she’d broken up with Andrew, as she’d still been dating _that_ particular mistake when Donnelly had first uttered those words and she’d felt dirty focusing on it when she was supposed to be with someone else. She wouldn’t allow herself to properly focus on his words until after they’d broken up, but she still went warm all over. Then she’d gone warm all over for a completely different reason because of her brother’s need to step in and ruin the moment with his well-intentioned but supremely embarrassing interject.

Now, though, with her quiet observations of him and Allie X’s “GOOD” tinkling out of her Bluetooth speaker, she had the sudden urge to actually bring the whole thing up. Really, there was nothing stopping her except the thought that he hadn’t actually meant it. But if he _had_ meant it… she had to waft her shirt away from her chest—hot all of a sudden. The thought of Paul Donnelly—in all his tattooed, devil-may-care glory—with his head between her legs was already doing more for her libido than the months she’d spent with Andrew. It wasn’t that Andrew _wasn’t_ attractive—he had been, if in a wealthy, preppy, and slightly douche-y way—but Donnelly was on a whole other level without even trying. That made him all the _more_ attractive, too. That he didn’t _know_ he was attractive—that he didn’t flaunt it.

The couple of guys that she had been with had all been nice to her and good in bed—well, _okay_ in bed, if she had a gun to her head—and she wanted _someone_ to show her what ‘great sex’ was. She had told Jane a few weeks ago that she was going to stick with one-night stands for a while, see if the anonymity of the whole encounter could catapult her into ‘great sex’ territory. So far, everything had felt pretty good, but there _had_ to be something else out there. Why not ask Donnelly to show her?

She had to be able to compare her future hook-ups to _something_ , and from some of the stories she’d been privy to, Donnelly was the best candidate for her—a baseline, for lack of a better word. (For lack of a better word that she was willing to admit, at least.)

“Hey, Donnelly, I’ve got a question,” she said before she could back-out. Still, she spoke to the wiring of the bunk above her, avoiding looking at him. She heard his _hmm_ of acknowledgement, but she didn’t know if her was looking at her either—didn’t know if he’d looked up from his sketchbook.

“You don’t have to say anything,” she prefaced, “‘cause I’m sure you’d originally said it all in jest—you may not even _remember_ saying it—but I just thought that I’d, well… I thought I’d…”

“Spit it out, babe.” Donnelly chuckled.

Her heart took a break in pumping her blood for a moment at his use of ‘babe’—no matter that he called her that frequently, oftentimes with the word ‘space’ in front of it. She took a breath.

“Will you show me what ‘good head’ looks like?” she asked in a rush.

She couldn’t help, then, but to look over at him—though she remained supine on the bed. Her entire body was flushed—mostly in embarrassment, an emotion she hadn’t truly felt in a while—but he, impossibly, seemed completely unfazed. It eased her worries already, even though his poker face gave away absolutely no notion of what his answer would be. Actually, her flush was already calming down and her confidence was bolstered just from looking into his light blue eyes. She kept speaking.

“I was thinking that I need _someone_ to show me what it is, and I remember that you mentioned—well, it was more of a backhanded, justified dig at Andrew—but you mentioned it. And this way, I’ll have some actual standards and not end up with someone like Andrew again.”

She heard him mockingly mumble ‘standards’ under his breath—as if to say he wasn’t the one to go to for any form of standards. She just barreled on.

“So, I gathered all my wits from my chemistry class—that I failed, mind you—and devised a whole experiment. If I’m going to figure out what the difference is between great sex and subpar sex, then I need a control group.” He was still staring at her, but she noticed his hand had clenched tightly around his pen. “I want you to be my control group,” she clarified. “Or, well, my control _person_.”

As the seconds ticked by, and he only went so far as to toss his sketchbook onto the carpet, Luna realized she may have made a mistake. That for all of their teasing, and the sporadic flirty text messages they’ve been known to shoot back and forth, actually having sex was crossing some line that he wasn’t willing to cross. Of course, she knew how _taboo_ the concept was—he was a bodyguard and she was part of the famous family he spent his days protecting—but she’d also thought that things were calmer on that particular subject now that Moffy and Farrow had revealed their relationship. Hell, Jane was _dating_ —fake dating, but same thing—her _bodyguard,_ for God’s sake. Plus, no one had to know and she wasn’t planning on making it a regular thing. (This was pure science, obviously.)

She swung her legs over the side of the bed to face him.

“Sorry if I shouldn’t have asked,” she said, trying not to let her voice waver from nerves.

“You can always ask me anything,” he said. “You know that, Luna.”

She nodded.

“I’m just surprised that you’d ask _me,”_ he admitted.

“Why wouldn’t I ask you?” she wondered, her brows furrowing. “We’re friends—good friends, I’d say—and you’re more than just _attractive_ , Donnelly. Plus, from what I know, you’d set my standards pretty high.” She took a steadying breath. “And quite frankly, I don’t trust anyone else to do this—to do this _with_ me.”

“Okay,” he said.

“Wait.” She lurched to her feet. “ _Okay_ as in you’re acknowledging what I said? Or _okay_ as in you’ll do it?”

“I’ll do it,” he responded.

He levered himself to his feet as well, crossing the small room in three steps to stand in front of her. Luna’s breathing shallowed immediately in anticipation as his smell enveloped her—eucalyptus, clean laundry, and the lingering scent of clove-cigarette smoke. He was so close to her; she could feel the heat radiating from his body.

“Just one question first,” he murmured.

“Anything,” she whispered back.

“Is kissing allowed in this scientific endeavor?” His hand came up to splay across her cheek, his fingers lingering on her neck and his thumb tracing over her bottom lip. “Or is this purely research on ‘good head’?”

As if she could deny him.

“Kiss me,” she said breathily.

Her hands were clutching the fabric of his thin shirt like her life depended on it. Donnelly leaned over her and used his grip on her neck to tilt her chin up towards him. She was pleased to see that he was breathing just as heavily as she was. Her body was shaking in anticipation. It felt like an eternity before his lips finally touched hers, but she knew she’d wait another eternity just for the chance of it happening again. His lips were warm and the sheer force of his kiss bowed her over, but his free arm snaked around her waist and pulled her securely into his body.

It was safe to say that Luna had never been kissed this well, or this fully and all-consuming, in her entire life. Already he was proving to her that this was the best decision she could have made—that _he_ was the best decision she could have made.

Luna freed one arm from between their bodies and ran her hand through his chestnut-brown hair, tugging on it a little. He groaned at her motions and slipped one of his hands under her t-shirt, his large palm sliding up her back. Now it was her turn to moan, his hands on her bare skin always having been a turn on for her—it was wild to think that her fantasy of him touching her like this, which spurned from the time he’d given her her first tattoo, was finally coming to fruition.

Breathing heavily, Donnelly tore his mouth away from hers and took the opportunity to trail his lips down her neck. Letting another breathy moan breach her lips, Luna tipped her head back to give him better access. His kisses were hot and open-mouthed, and they sent jolts of electricity straight to that pool of heat already forming in her belly.

“Oh my _God,”_ she breathed, clutching him tighter as he sucked on her pulse point. Suddenly she wasn’t close enough to him, and she began pawing at his t-shirt, trying to pull it over his head. He caught on quickly, and separated from her long enough to wrench the garment over his head. She mirrored his movement and pulled her own t-shirt off, revealing her plain, blue cotton bra. She hadn’t yet slept with someone that balked at her plain choice in undergarments, but Andrew had mentioned off hand more than a few times that he preferred something with lace. She had never cared that much, though, and always thought there was more beauty in simplicity. She found herself now—as Donnelly took a moment to slide his palm across her stomach and up between the valley of her breasts—wishing that she was wearing something sexier, however. Maybe something black, or something with a small bow in the front, or something that gave her a little bit of cleavage.

But then he hiked her legs up around his waist and he was staring at her like he’d never seen anything more beautiful. She was clutching at his hair with both hands now, and she kissed him slowly. His hands were gripping her ass—his palms sliding under her athletic shorts and squeezing—as he climbed onto her bunk. He settled his weight on her as he continued to kiss her. She moaned again when he pulled her bottom lip between his teeth, and she couldn’t help but buck her hips up into him. She could feel him through his jeans, and that just sped up her breathing even more.

“Donnelly, please,” she begged, her thighs tightening around his waist and her nails dragging across his back. “You have to give me _something._ I’m dying here.”

And she was. The fact that she was able to ask for more in a complete sentence was completely baffling—and a feat she was sure she couldn’t repeat. Donnelly, instead of answering her in words, ground his hips into her just right and managed to unhook her bra without her even realizing that was what he was doing. Panting heavily, she slipped her bra off her arms and discarded it somewhere on the bed. But then he sat up away from her and she whimpered— _actually_ whimpered—at the distance and the rush of air on her now bare chest. She didn’t have long to be disappointed though, because he was pulling off her shorts and panties in one fell swoop.

Luna felt suddenly vulnerable as she lay completely bare in front of him, while he was still clad in his black jeans, but the way his eyes were roving over her made her warm. The flushness of her skin was in stark contrast to the trail of goosebumps his hand left in its wake as it slid along the inside of her thigh. She was mesmerized by his fingers—each of them with a black tattooed symbol etched on the knuckle—as they gently tracked their way across her stomach and up around the side of her breast. When his thumb tweaked her nipple, she closed her eyes in pleasure, and she let out a sigh of contentment when his body weight once again settled over her. She pulled him achingly closer when he sucked one of her nipples into his mouth, swirling his tongue around the bud.

Nothing had _ever_ felt like this before, and her mind could no longer focus on one single thing. She was sure he could ask her anything and her answer would be yes. Everything was flowing over her, but it was oddly disjointed as she catalogued everything by itself. There were just his lips. And his hands. And his hips nestled between her thighs. Then there were _her_ hands, threaded through his soft hair. And her heel digging into the small of his back. _Then_ there were his lips leaving a trail of fire down her stomach as he inched closer towards where she was aching to be touched. And a sheet—her sheet, the neon-green ones she’d bought just last week—being pulled over his back and blanketing over her.

She lifted the fabric with one hand to look down at him, only to find him already watching her.

“As they say, lie back and think of England, babe,” he rasped.

“As if I could think of anything _other_ than you right now,” she replied just as roughly.

He shot her a cocky grin and maintained eye contact as he lowered his mouth to her. She immediately—and involuntarily—clenched her fist in his hair and the sheet slipped out of her hold. Not being able to see him somehow made this even more sensual than it had been. She could feel him everywhere—on every last one of her nerve endings—and just knowing that it was _Donnelly_ under the sheet was purely orgasmic. Unabashedly, her thighs tightened around his head and one of his arms slid across her waist to hold her bucking hips to the bed. When he gave a particularly enthusiastic suck on her small bundle of nerves, her head bowed off the pillow and her mouth opened in a silent _O._

When she opened her eyes, steadfast on telling him to fuck the ‘science’ and to just fuck _her_ —because she _needed_ more of him—she focused instead on the fact that her door was open and someone was _standing_ there.

She tensed.

_‘Oh my God,’_ she thought—and not in a good way. _‘It’s Jane.’_

“Shitshit,” she cursed.

Immediately, Donnelly popped out from under the sheet and his hand that was just securely holding her to the bed is now gently holding her hip in concern.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, his tone worried and his eyes full of questions. But she was frozen in place, unable to answer him, and her eyes flicked from him to the door and stayed there—staring at her cousin, unblinking. Donnelly followed her gaze, and she felt the moment when he figured out what was happening and unthawed. Luna didn’t know why he wasn’t at all freaked out—why he went from anxiously looking at her, to smoothly sliding off the bed and exhaling in relief.

Somehow, he managed to keep her completely covered with the sheet, and she clutched it securely to her chest as he grabbed his t-shirt from the floor and pulled it over his head. She watched, longingly, as his tattoos and muscles disappeared beneath the tattered cotton. Luna looked back to her cousin when she heard her speak.

“I’m _so_ sorry, Luna,” Jane breathed. Luna could hear the apologies in her voice and see the mixture of sorry and surprise in her eyes. “I’m going to come back later,” she added quickly.

“Waitwait!” Luna whisper-hissed at Jane. “Don’t leave before I can explain.”

Luna watched the war behind her cousin’s eyes, but she eventually stepped forward into the room, consenting to hear what Luna had to say. Luna shimmied up the headboard and managed to find her bra amongst the pillows and snap it on. The real feat was her being able to find her shorts—which were deep under the covers and she had to pull them towards her with her toes. As Luna wiggled them on, she saw Donnelly—out of the corner of her eyes—fiddling with the safety pin he’d been using as a cartilage piercing. That alone told her that he actually _was_ nervous. Paul Donnelly didn’t fidget.

Luna slid out of the bed and landed on her butt on the floor. She hugged her legs, hiding her bare stomach behind her knees.

“So,” she began, somewhat lamely. “Donnelly was here to design my tattoo.”

Donnelly nodded in agreement as he slipped a cigarette behind his ear. He was so endearing in that moment—with all his nervous twiddling—that Luna wanted to climb onto his lap and wrap her arms around his neck.

Jane looked around and said, “I see.”

Quickly, Luna pointed to the desk next to Donnelly—desperate not to leave a space for awkward silence. “Donnelly, that’s for you, by the way. Just as payment for the design. I have cash for the actual tattoo.”

He reached for the pile of burnt orange fabric lying on the wooden desk and held it out in front of him. She couldn’t see the front of it from her vantage point, but she knew there was a green alien peace sign stitched into the middle. She’d made it, after all. Luna knew that when tattooing friends, Donnelly liked personal things—not always just cash—in exchange for the tattoos that he did, so she’d slaved away for the past two weeks to make the sweater for him.

“Sick,” he complimented her. She could hear the warmth in his voice when he asked, “Did you make this?”

“Yeah, I knitted it.” Luna shrugged and hoped it came off as nonchalant.

She watched him pull the sweater over his head—over his t-shirt—and she knew immediately that it was way too small. It stopped well above his belly button, but he just smirked at her and leaned back on the beanbag.

“Fits perfect,” he said.

She smiled, forgetting for a moment that Jane was still in the room. Turning quickly to her cousin, she said, “Alrighty, so me and him—we’re here for the tattoo design.”

“I believe you,” Jane began and Luna remembered that she’d already said that, “but that doesn’t really explain what I saw.”

“We were in my room going over the design, and I asked him if he could show me what good head feels like,” Luna clarified, deciding to just blurt it out. If anyone was going to understand this—understand her—it’d be Jane Eleanor Cobalt.

Jane steepled her fingers to her lips. She had her thinking face on. “More facts,” she said. “You and you.” Jane pointed to Luna and Donnelly. “Hooked up just because you wanted to see what good head felt like?”

“I knew you’d get me,” Luna said with a nod and a smile. Jane was Luna’s only female cousin who was extremely open about sex, so Luna had confided in her a lot. The fact that Jane understood—even if she had phrased it as a question—made Luna incredibly happy. Luna itched to explain more. “I just can’t really tell the good sex from the bad ones. They all feel pretty good to me, so I came up with a scientific study. Have a baseline that everything is compared to.”

Donnelly raised his hand in a small mock wave. “I’m her baseline.”

“I followed that,” Jane said. Her voice was light but her brows furrowed slightly. “You don’t even like science.”

“Exactly,” Luna said. “Tom, Eliot, and I have this theory that you can make anything fun, given the right circumstances. I’m making science fun. With sex.”

Suddenly, both girls had stupid silly grins on their faces. Luna loved her cousin—truly loved her—and their connection and Jane’s understanding in that moment made Luna genuinely grateful to have the other woman in her life. Luna didn’t know what she’d do without her.

“Maximoff–”

“Can’t know,” Luna said, cutting her cousin off adamantly. “I can’t even imagine what his reaction would be if he knew Donnelly and I hooked up—for scientific purposes—but still.” She looked to Donnelly. “Moffy goes three-fourths Loren Hale, and there is no universe you’d ever survive one-half of my dad if he found out.”

Jane inhaled a sharp breath and winced. Luna knew that asking Jane to keep a secret from Moffy was like asking water not to be wet. They were joined at the hip—always had been—and Luna hated to be the one asking her to do this, but she had to. She hated even more that she told Jane it was a _“one-time_ thing,” and that Moffy “really doesn’t need to know,” when Luna wasn’t altogether convinced that she really _did_ want this to happen only once.

Jane glanced to Donnelly, but he just held his hands up in surrender. “I’m cool with whatever she wants to do,” he said.

Luna didn’t have a single idea what was going through Donnelly’s head at the moment, but Luna trusted that he meant what he said—that he _one-hundred percent_ meant what he said.

“Okay,” Jane agreed softly. “I won’t say anything to Moffy.”

Luna, uncaring that she was only in her bra and a small pair of athletic shorts, jumped up and charged towards her cousin—arms outstretched. She flung her gangly arms around Jane’s neck and clung to her tightly. Into her ear, Luna said softly, “If the Thebulan gods were real, they’d anoint you with glitter and a life-time supply of great sex in thanks for keeping my great sex a secret.”

Jane pulled back first, and they smiled at each other.

Then Jane turned sternly to Donnelly and said, “Don’t you dare hurt her.”

“I’d rather die,” he responded immediately. He was dead serious, and the intensity of his voice surprised Luna slightly. Jane just nodded in acceptance though, not even batting an eye at his dramatic declaration— _oh, to be a Cobalt,_ Luna mused to herself with a quiet laugh. Jane bid them both goodnight and slipped back out the door. When it snicked shut behind her, Luna turned to Donnelly and blanched.

“That just happened,” she said.

Donnelly stood and grinned as he advanced towards her. Luna backed up until her back hit the cool wood of the door. He placed his hands on either side of her head and leaned in until his breath trickled warmly across her face.

“Great sex, eh?” he joked, apparently having heard her declaration to Jane a few moments earlier.

“Don’t act like you didn’t know I thought that,” she joked.

“Oh, I knew.” He smirked and placed a warm kiss just under her left ear. “But it’s different when you say it.”

“I think our great sex has to be put on hold,” she replied sadly, trailing her hand across his chest—touching the sweater that still stretched across his shoulders and marveling at the fact that she was now allowed to do this. “It would be pushing our luck to go at it again after just having been caught.”

“Well, then we’ll have to ‘go at it again’ sometime soon,” he said. He kissed her underneath her other ear and her legs turned weak, but she kept her grip on him and maintained her footing. “You haven’t gotten an adequate baseline yet.”

What she didn’t tell him was that she already had, and that anyone after him was likely to pale in comparison—and they hadn’t even gotten to the actual good part. She just smiled into his kiss, though, as she wasn’t going to be the one to tell him no.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> welp. this was my first time writing any form of actual smut and it was harder than i thought. i hope it turned out okay. 
> 
> i would die for donnelly and he deserves the world. and i love that he was more worried that something was wrong with Luna than he was about being caught by Jane. also, they went from 0 to 100 here, but i'm in full support of these crazy kids lol


	4. part four

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> that last tattoo session in headstrong like us where moffy and farrow walk-in. also shown, ANGST ANGST ANGST

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> first, this whole fic has now been beta'd by the wonderful drwatsonn over on ffn.net :)) the chapters are all updated and she's fresh and clean now *chef's kiss*
> 
> some dialogue taken directly from hlu.

Luna had always loved the decorations in her childhood bedroom. Together, she and her mom had fully decorated the space when she was thirteen, and even though small parts of the room changed as she got older, the main pieces remained the same. The room was chock full of nostalgia, and she didn’t mind having to do a little stint in the place before the group of them found a replacement for the townhouse. Most days—if not all days—she found the gauzy curtains and the hanging twinkle lights and the glow-in-the-dark star stickers on the ceiling to be the most comfortable thing she could imagine. She’d spent a great number of hours during her teenage years watching how the lights reflected off the shimmery swaths of fabric, just thinking about her day or trying to plot a story in her head or simply staring aimlessly off into space.

Never, in all her years of gazing at her decorations, had Luna been quite so focused on them, however.

Not to mention, never, in all her eighteen years of living in this house, had she ever had a _boy_ in her bedroom—and as if the term ‘boy’ could encompass all that _he_ was.

Because here she was, lying on her side on a folding table atop a clean white sheet in nothing but a plain t-shirt and green thong, with Paul Donnelly seated on a chair behind her.

He had his tattoo gun clenched in his fist—red wrapping around its handle—and he’d been at the design on the side of her thigh for the better part of an hour now. Luna hadn’t been able to catch a proper glance at him since he’d sat down in the office chair behind her. She faced away from him, steadfastly staring at those damn decorations—trying to distract herself from his hand on her skin, the prick of the needle not enough on its own. She thought she’d be accustomed to his touch by now—this was, after all, her fourth tattoo by him and, not to mention, their second session on this particular one. His hands were still just as capable as sending shocks of electricity through her veins as they usually were, though.

His hands had also been in _much_ more interesting and intimate places than the outside of her thigh, or the side of her hip. But now that she knew what those _other_ touches felt like, the firm weight of his hand on her thigh just wasn’t enough. He was, though, surprisingly causal with his touches, and he was always surreptitiously touching her hair, or fluttering his hand across her back. But they never had _true_ heat behind them. Sure, some of his touches were less than chaste, but they were always too casual for her to interpret them as something else—something more.

Luna believed that the tension between them was more built up now than it was before her cousin Jane had burst into her room unannounced. Because, despite her insistence that they’d be ‘pushing their luck’ if they continued with their sexy times, Donnelly apparently held no such qualms. His kisses as he’d pressed her up against the door had quickly turned more eager and passionate—from both of them. Then, he’d locked the door, carried her back to her bed, and that was that.

Her sex-experiment? A glaringly huge, eye-rolling success.

Luna’s baseline was not just a baseline; it was a standard that she couldn’t imagine anyone else reaching. But that went down months ago, and despite her being all for a repeat performance, Donnelly had taken her hastily uttered ‘one-time thing’ declaration to heart. She wouldn’t trade what they’d done—and she couldn’t regret it even if someone held a gun to her head—but now they were back to their casual teasing and flirty ways. Just like they’d used to. Nothing was new, and, really, nothing had changed. Sometimes, it was hard to look at him and realize she couldn’t have him; so she distracted herself with other guys—faceless guys in nameless clubs—but just like she’d predicted, nothing had yet to compare to that night.

No one had yet to compare to Paul Donnelly.

And sometimes, especially since Scotland, they would lock eyes. She still hadn’t been able to figure out what Donnelly was always searching for in her eyes, but she _did_ know that he never seemed to find it. His gaze would always shutter, his emotions padlocking away behind his eyes, and she didn’t know what she needed to show him to change this practiced outcome. She never pushed him in these situations, and she always changed the subject for him before he felt he had to say something he wasn’t ready for.

She _wasn’t_ going to push him. She wasn’t that girl—she’d _never_ be that girl.

In light of all this, and to protect her heart from shattering into a million little pieces, Luna had taken to chanting whenever she got too into her feelings. _One-time thing, one-time thing, one-time thing,_ she’d repeat—repeat until it was the only thought bouncing around her skull.

That wasn’t quite working at the moment, as she listened to him talk aimlessly about SFO’s latest get-together. She wasn’t ashamed to admit that she loved listening to him speak. He had a South Philly lilt at the end of his words, and he had such a distinct way of saying her name that it made her heart ache a little bit with longing. She and Donnelly had grown close enough in the recent months that she can say she cared deeply about him without sounding like an insta-lovey fool—that outside of Tom and Elliot, he was, quite possibly, her best friend. She knew that she wasn’t his, though, and she was okay with that. Because just as no one could take the place of Tom and Elliot for her, no one could take the place of Oscar and Farrow in Donnelly’s life. But she wouldn’t mind sliding into a different role—being a different kind of best friend.

And though all signs pointed to that not happening anytime soon, Luna was going to remain confident about it. Confidence is key… even when what you want doesn’t work out. _Especially_ if what you want doesn’t work out, if Luna’s experiences were anything to go by.

Right when Luna was about to open her mouth—when she was about to give voice to one of the random thoughts bouncing around her brain—there was a knock on her bedroom door.

“Hey, Luna,” Farrow called through the wood. “I left my med kit in there.”

“You can come in!” she yelled, though she was careful not to jostle herself as Donnelly’s needle again pierced her skin. She expected to just see Farrow popping into her room, but her brother followed behind him and she had to resist the urge to cover herself. Luna and Moffy had always been close, but him seeing her in her thong wasn’t exactly a comfortable position for her to be in.

He seemed to be feeling the same way as he was currently glaring at the ceiling and muttering out, _“Luna.”_

“Sorry, Moffy!” she was quick to say. “I didn’t know you were with Farrow.”

Still, despite her discomfort in being seen a little more than half-naked in front of her _brother,_ it wasn’t like she was completely naked. Luna’s found that having tattoos had boosted her confidence. She’d always been comfortable in her own skin—she’d had to be because the public and the media had always been hell-bent on making her _un_ comfortable—but the tattoos have made her knee-jerk reaction to cover up disappear. Plus, from Moffy’s perspective, the thong she was in wasn’t revealing much more than her average swimsuit usually did. Only Donnelly could really see anything—something that Moffy seemed to zero in on as he turned his Loren Hale-esque glare onto Donnelly.

“You have my sister in a _thong_ on a table in her bedroom–”

“Moffy!” Luna interjected. Her face was on fire—a veritable erupting volcano.

Donnelly lifted his tattoo gun in the closest gesture to surrender she’d ever seen him make. “It’s for a tattoo, man.”

“No shit,” Farrow added casually. He crossed the room to inspect the sprawling tattoo that snaked up the side of her leg, curling over her hip and trickling onto the side of her ass. It was a big tattoo, and the size of it had intimidated her slightly when she’d first seen the drawings Donnelly had done—no matter that she was the one who wanted it to be that big in the first place. Now, she was just beyond excited about the entire thing—all the intricacies of the galaxy that Donnelly was bestowing upon her skin. It consisted of ballpoint-pen fine-lines that were perfectly curved and then perfectly straight. It was, in all honesty, one of the most beautiful drawings that she’d ever seen, and she was honored that Donnelly had drawn it for her with such care.

“Shit, this line work is insane,” Farrow said.

Donnelly smirked—one of his smirks that quirked his mouth in the most attractive way and made that spark enter his eyes like it did when someone paid him a true compliment. “You’re not the only one with good hands,” Donnelly said.

Oh boy, did Luna know _that_.

“What the _fuck_ , Donnelly?” Moffy was glaring at Donnelly, then the walls, then the tattoo gun in Donnelly’s hand—obviously unamused and not knowing what to do about it. “My dad _lives_ here,” Moffy continued. “He eats, sleeps, and breathes in this fucking house.”

Luna groaned and collapsed back onto her side, throwing her hand over her eyes in an attempt to shield herself from this embarrassment. She really couldn’t blame Jane for spilling the beans to Moffy—it was unfair of Luna to ask Jane to keep something so big from her best friend, Luna knew she would have had a tough time keeping something of the same caliber from Tom and Elliot. But ever since Moffy had found out, he’d been looking at her differently. She didn’t feel as though he were judging her, per se, but it was like he was seeing her in a new light. Like she was officially grown up in his eyes and he wasn’t sure what to do about it. Other people that she’d hooked up with had always been faceless guys to her older brother, just names that she’d mentioned off hand and experiences she’d been even vaguer about.

Donnelly was the first person that she’d slept with that her brother actually knew—that he actually saw and interacted with on a regular basis.

Luna uncovered her face enough to catch Donnelly’s eye before he said, calmly, to her brother, “Yeah, I know.”

Donnelly doesn’t panic; she’d never seen even a flicker of that emotion enter his face, and he was the same way now. What’s worse, though, is the resigned look she sees in him now—as though he’s preparing himself to be shit on. As though he’s bracing himself to hear that he’s undeserving, that she was too good for him and he needed to watch himself. And suddenly, everything between the two of them made so much more sense, and Luna realized she’d played her own part in making this bed for them. When she’d said “one-time thing”, she was just trying not to scare him—or herself for that matter. She was trying to keep Jane from poking around too much. But really, all she succeeded in was pushing Donnelly further down that rabbit hole—in making him feel like he was undeserving of being _more_ than a one-time thing.

He couldn’t be more wrong.

“Could be worse, wolf scout,” she vaguely heard Farrow say as he picked up his med bag.

But Donnelly’s look had turned slightly desperate, as if he were begging her not to rock the boat.

“How?” her brother wondered.

“We could’ve walked in on them doing other shit together,” Farrow said with a little hidden smirk.

Slowly, and hating herself a little but willing to do it for Donnelly, Luna said, “Noooo.”

Nothing about Donnelly outwardly changed, but he placed a secret, comforting, and thankful touch on the small of her back—casual even, if Farrow or Moffy were to see it.

“Me and Donnelly—that was a one-time experiment,” Luna finished.

It hurt her a little to say it out loud again. And when Donnelly did his adorable thing of pushing his wire-framed reading glasses up his nose with his elbow, Luna had to force her face not to shift. She had to force herself to only look at him out of her peripheral.

“Dad’s going to see this tattoo,” Moffy added, “and he’ll know Donnelly inked it and saw you half-naked.”

She saw red a little bit, all her thoughts converging on her at once. What was so damn bad about Donnelly seeing her half-naked? Really, what was _so_ wrong with it? And why did that singular comment make her think that everyone was _so_ up in her business?

“I can do what I want with my body,” she said firmly. “Mom already said she’d calm Dad down if I got another tattoo.”

As Farrow showed Moffy where her tattoo was, and the two were sufficiently distracted with each other, Luna smiled a little sadly at Donnelly. He slanted an unreadable look at her, but his hand made another pass at her back—a little more obvious and lingering this time around, but she wasn’t going to complain. Before she did something remarkably rash, she spoke up again.

“I’ve been planning this tattoo for a long time. Donnelly worked on the sketch for weeks.”

That was true. She’d first brought up the idea of the tattoo over text, and when he’d come over the next day to jot down some ideas and get some basic drawings down, they’d been sufficiently side tracked by _science._ Then Scotland happened, so they had to put it off even longer. But that time in the Highlands had given them some more time together—it was hell being trapped there with nowhere to go, but some of her favorite additions to the sketch happened in that month-long period. That time also proved to her that she was a _pro_ at avoiding temptation—or at least withstanding it.

“She wanted fine-line black and white so she could color it in with marker whenever,” Donnelly added to Farrow. He looked as if he was trying to communicate non-verbally with Farrow, and by Farrow’s little nod, he apparently understood whatever Donnelly was trying to say.

“Okay, but Maximoff isn’t wrong. Her dad is going to kill you.”

Yeah, Farrow was right. No matter if she raged about it ‘till she was blue in the face, Loren Hale was immune to all of it. He’d protect his two daughters until the death, even if they insisted that they were _fine._ Donnelly, however, was the most blasé person she’d ever met, and most things rolled right off him. He’d told her once, after she’d said something along the lines of ‘you’re too hard on yourself’, that if he was shit to himself, then the shit others would say wouldn’t be quite as shitty. As full proof as that theory had apparently proven, she _hated_ it and he never got away with saying bad things about himself in front of her. But it seemed he had a real response this time—no shit talking involved.

“Your baby is a blood-relative of mine,” Donnelly began, “and I’m Xander’s bodyguard. Which means that I’m like family. Murdering me is like murdering one of his own.”

“Man, you’ve got _Cobalt’s’ Never Die_ tattooed on your knee.” Farrow barked a laugh. “Loren Hale isn’t going to think you’re one of us.”

While preening at the fact that Farrow considered himself a Hale, she was simultaneously really bummed that Farrow would say that Donnelly could never join the Hale Clan. While she believed that her dad would put any potential boyfriend of hers through the wringer—try a literal meat grinder, with sharp prongs and invasive questions—she’d like to believe that he’d let Donnelly in eventually. He did it with Farrow, what was so wrong with doing it with Donnelly?

“I won’t let my dad kill him.”

Even though it would potentially make this hypothetical situation even worse, Luna would pull out all the stops and tell her dad everything. If he knew the _whole_ truth, the likelihood that he’d kill Donnelly would go up, but he’d _also_ be more likely to listen to her if she put it all on the table.

Really, it was a fifty-fifty shot. The Emperor of Petty ™ was a force to be reckoned with on a normal day.

She noticed her brother’s glazed look, and it pulled her out of her own stupor. “I’m hung up on the ‘your baby’ part,” Moffy began. Then he started speaking directly to Donnelly. “You know that we’re just temporary dads to Ripley? At some point Scottie will be released from prison, and we plan to help him get clean for reunification.”

“What?” Donnelly gaped.

His hand—though it was a closed and clenched fist this time, rather than a swipe of a thumb or a press of a palm—pressed against her back, as if he were looking to her to steady him.

Farrow continued Moffy’s trail of thought. “If Scottie’s willing to take the steps to be healthy for his son, then we have to respect that, Donnelly.”

Donnelly pushed off from the table, upset. Luna watched, helpless.

“Donnelly–” Farrow began, seeing the betrayed look on his friend’s face.

“Scottie isn’t looking to get clean, Farrow,” Donnelly said. “He laughed in my face when I saw him.”

“Wait, you talked to him?”

“I went to the state penitentiary,” Donnelly confirmed. Luna knew this; he’d called her about it after he’d gotten back to his apartment. He said that he couldn’t tell Oscar or Farrow—that they knew too much of the history, and he didn’t want to drag up shit that he’d rather have stay buried. Donnelly continued, “He’s just holdin’ onto his parental rights because he knows Maximoff Hale has the baby. So when he comes out, he’s one-degree away from this family.”

Farrow and Moffy look murderous at this declaration. Luna had too, when Donnelly had first told her. Ripley deserved to be more than a bargaining chip—to be a way ‘in’ and used to exploit and blackmail. He deserved Farrow and Moffy. Interrupting the staring contest between her brother and his fiancé was the garage door opening.

“Your dad’s home,” Farrow stated.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Luna almost flung herself off the table to make sure everything looked “normal.” But Donnelly was already rolling his chair back towards her and placing that hand on her back again.

“Wait, I have to clean your tattoo first.”

“I’ll stall him,” her brother promised, but he was cut off by her Uncle Ryke’s voice yelling her dad’s name. Ryke was always loud, so she wasn’t too worried, but Moffy and Farrow were already sprinting out towards the commotion. That made her stomach sink a little, but she still stayed put—letting Donnelly wipe down her thigh. After her infection from the tongue piercing, Luna _never_ wanted one again. She’d tried to play it off all tough, but she’d had a horrid fever and everything had felt heavy for days. So, she took some deep breaths and calmed her heartbeat. Donnelly apparently misinterpreted her sigh—for what, she didn’t know—but he spoke up.

“I’m sorry,” he said quietly as he grabbed another damp paper towel.

She looked down at him incredulously. “What the hell for?”

“For causing all of this…” he gestured around vaguely, “mess. There’s tension between you and your brother now, and it doesn’t take a fuckin’ detective to put the pieces together.”

“What pieces?”

He just looked at her.

“Wait, because we slept together? That _you’re_ the reason for the ‘tension?’” she asked, her brows furrowing.

He nodded, and finished drying her leg—wrapping a bandage over the portion he worked on today. All without looking at her.

“Do you regret saying yes to me?” Luna asked quietly, swinging her legs over the side of the table and sitting up to face him. She was afraid of his answer. They hadn’t stopped teasing each other—hadn’t stopped their flirting—and really, not many aspects of their relationship had changed. They just knew what it was like, now, when they jumped over that line in the sand. But she was still scared. Luna leaned forward and braced her hands on the table, staring at the carpet.

“Not even a little bit,” he said definitively.

“Then why would you assume that _I’d_ regret it?”

“Because whether or not you wanna admit it, I _am_ the reason that things are weird between you and your brother— _we_ are the reason.”

“Well, then he’s gonna have to grow up and get over it. And it’s not like we’re lying to him about anything—it _has_ been a one-time thing. Really, if he were smart, he’d realize that the one he should be pissed at—if he’s gonna keep up this angry big brother front—is me, not you. Because little does he know, you’re the one who has to constantly shut me down.”

“I haven’t shut you down,” Donnelly rebutted as he took apart his tattoo gun and put his ink bottles back into their case.

“Not in so many words, no, but you haven’t exactly been open to it either.”

“Says who?” he asked, that smirk of his snaking across his face. 

“You!” Luna laughed. She had to resist the urge to tell him that he was sexy as all hell at the moment.

“Okay,” he said, laughing a little with her, “ask me now then. You haven’t asked me outright yet.”

“Fine.” She grinned. “Paul Donnelly, can I make out with you?”

“Nope,” he said, popping the ‘p’. He was still grinning as he threw his packed-up tattoo bag over his shoulder.

“You’re such an ass.” She shook her head at him, but she also couldn’t stop grinning. She hopped off the table and grabbed her discarded sweats from the floor, pulling them on and preparing herself for whatever situation she was about to find downstairs. ‘Doomsday,’ her brother would say. ‘We’re preparing for doomsday, Lulu.”

She could feel Donnelly watching her as she tied up her sweats, just as she’d felt his stare on her legs and on her ass as her skin disappeared under the fabric. He was still a doofus, but that didn’t mean his stare didn’t make her all tingly. She swung to face him, catching him in his staring, and she pointed a finger at his face as she walked closer to him.

“Okay, Mr. Nope, I have a rule then,” she stated. She was within arms-length of him now, and she poked him none too gently in the chest. “You can’t look at me like that… not if you’re not gonna follow through. It’s cruel and unusual punishment. You’ve already set up all the other guys for failure, so you can’t eye-fuck me and then expect someone else to properly take your place. Because that can’t happen—physically impossible.”

She’d started off jokingly, and she’d had every intention of just flirting with him and playfully busting his chops. Then she, predictably, got all in her feels and it turned a little too serious.

“Sorry, babe,” he said, and he sounded genuinely apologetic.

“Good, okay,” she said lamely. “Well, I’m gonna go and be mopey in my living room or something.”

Before she’d even turned partially away from him, Donnelly grabbed her arm and pulled her back into his chest. Before more than a slightly shocked exhale of breath could escape her, his lips were on hers. The force of it almost took her off her feet and she was decidedly _not_ thinking at the moment, but it was as if her hands knew exactly where they were supposed to be—her mouth knew exactly what it was supposed to do. This was only their second kiss and though it was _months_ in the waiting, all that time was worth it. She hadn’t realized that the memory of his lips had diminished—had faded slightly—but now everything, _everything_ , was rushing back. Her hands were in his hair, and his arms were wrapped completely around her waist, and he was walking her back towards the table she’d just jumped off of.

Breaking from his mouth, she took one second to jump back on that table before frantically pulling him back towards her. His tattoo bag thudded to the ground and he slid his hand across the smooth skin of her back under her white t-shirt. Everything ratcheted up a thousand degrees, and, without really thinking, Luna wrapped her legs around his waist and pulled him in. It was his turn to groan, and she was impossibly close to him—as close as she could get with them still having their clothes on. His hand had descended to her ass—one of its favorite (and most frequently ventured) places to be—and he used that one hand to lift her slightly off the table.

She felt almost completely boneless in his arms. She didn’t know how _her_ arms were still holding onto his neck—how her ankles managed to stay locked securely around his waist—but here she was. Kissing him as passionately as she could—as fully as she could—just in case she had to wait another several months for another moment like this to come around.

He pulled back first, his breathing just as heavy as hers and his hands still possessively placed on her body.

“Maybe someone else shouldn’t take my place,” he whispered into her mouth.

His voice cracked when he said it, and Luna may have felt her heart crack along with it. This was, really, what she’d been wanting to hear him say since they’d hooked up— _before_ they’d even hooked up, if she were being honest with herself. But something deep inside of her told her she needed to ask this next question—needed to have this next conversation—even if it hurt her.

“Are you sure?” she whispered back. “You’ve seen from Thatcher and Farrow that it’s harder for you guys—security, that is—than it is for me. For my family. Are you _sure_ that you’re ready for all the—in your own words— ‘shit’ from your past to be public knowledge? Because even though it doesn’t define you, the media will try to spin it that way.”

His silence was telling, but the way his hands tightened on her waist and the way he twiddled with a lock of her hair let her know that he wasn’t at all happy about his gut reaction. His eyes told an even sadder story—one full of childhood traumas that still lingered as adult demons—and it made her own eyes burn with tears when their gazes locked.

“It’s okay,” she said sadly. He let out a humorless chuckle and rested his forehead against hers. “I’m not going anywhere, so you can take your time, Paul. No one’s rushing you, or forcing you to do anything you don’t want to do—especially not me. I’m not angry with you—it’s a big decision and a big deal, everyone knowing everything about you. If I wasn’t born into it, and if I was able to get away from it all without having to leave my family behind, I’d have said ‘fuck you’ to the paparazzi and hightailed it out of here years ago.”

“You mean that, too, don’t you?” he asked, genuinely curious.

She wasn’t sure which part of her little speech he was referencing, but she still said, “Are you surprised by that?”

“No,” he said softly.

It was silent for a moment.

“It’s completely your choice when and where or even if,” Luna said softly. She kissed him, then—her mouth as soft and gentle as her voice. One of her hands reached up to cradle his face, her thumb brushing along his cheekbone. She’d never kissed anyone with such tenderness before, and by the way his chest collapsed on an exhale, she knew he hadn’t either.

Pulling away from him this time was akin to actual torture, but she knew she had to because if she was in the circle of his arms for even a second longer, she wouldn’t be able to stop herself from having sex with him. They’d be too close to that edge, and if they weren’t even ready for her family and his friends to know that they wished to be _more_ than a ‘one-time thing’, then they _definitely_ weren’t ready for the emotional and cathartic sex that that kiss had promised. So, she hopped off the table with one last parting glance, squeeze of his hands, and no words. She made it all the way to the door before she heard her name on the ghost of his breath—uttered so low, she almost missed it. She turned, with her hand on the doorknob to make sure she didn’t go running back to him.

“You’re pretty great, you know that?” he asked. His tattoo bag was already back on his shoulder. “Truly and amazingly one of a kind, Luna Hale.”

She grinned, but at her hands—not trusting herself to look at him. She knew that, for one of the few times in his life, his emotions were going to be plastered across his face. Not to mention _her_ expression. Luna felt both achingly sad and truly _seen_ for the first time in her life, and he was the only one that had ever given her this swirl of emotions in her gut. He saw her for _all_ that she was, and he judged her for absolutely none of it. _They_ weren’t going to be happening today, but his voice and his touches held the promise of ‘someday.’

“I’ll see you tomorrow, Paul,” she whispered, and she risked a small smile in his direction—wiping a tear from her cheek as she did so. He looked equally as wrecked as she stepped out of the room, but he didn’t pull her back this time.

So she left him in her childhood bedroom and went in search of the commotion that had long since passed on the floor below her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i so so hope that y'all enjoyed this last chapter of tattoos! i'm sorry for the long wait, this chapter just WOULD NOT come into being. But she's here, she's way angstier than i expected, and i'm pretty happy with how she turned out.
> 
> donnelly deserves the entire world and i can't wait to read about how he gets in the CONFIRMED lunnelly book
> 
> i'm thinking about writing a little 'extra' thing from Loren's pov showing all the times he's noticed her new tattoos. we shall see though, don't know how many people would be interested in that beside me lol


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